


Just Another Day

by Animedemon01



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 15:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20585132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animedemon01/pseuds/Animedemon01
Summary: Dash Haber really didn't get paid enough for this.





	Just Another Day

**Author's Note:**

> Another request fic from my Tumblr: https://caramel-sandiego.tumblr.com/post/187403427527/can-i-request-a-fic-about-dash-having-to-deal-with

Dash Haber was having one the worst days of his life. Due to the ongoing issues with Carmen Sandiego (And the whispers of Shadow-San’s involvement in some form or another), along with the recent rumors of a possible ACME mole within the ranks, paranoia was at an all time high. Despite everything being business as usual, VILE seemed to be in a state of low-level lockdown.

Because of the general distrust currently within the organization, Countess Cleo had confined Dash to the island until further notice. While this meant he wasn’t traveling around the globe for her anymore, there wasn’t any sort of decrease in his workload. If anything, the amount of work he had to do had increased.

All of the Head Faculty members had their hands full with the current situation, but that didn’t change the number of students that needed to be taught. Countess Cleo, seeing as she had confined Dash to the island, was having him complete some of her duties for the time being, at least until she decided she could trust him enough.

It wasn’t just the increased workload and heavy restrictions that were causing Dash issues, however, as just being on the island itself seemed to further his anxiety. The social anxiety he once had was all but gone, thanks to his duties requiring him to meet with many people on a regular basis, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have to deal with _any _anxiety. Maybe it was the increased pressure from Countess Cleo that was causing this increased stress, or perhaps it had something to do the organization as a whole, he didn’t know.

“I need these done by midnight.” Countess Cleo told him, shoving a large stack of papers into his hands. “Normally one of us would enter these mission reports in the Database, but because of the current situation, the Head Faculty must focus on more important tasks. I’ve had you do this type of thing before, so I trust it won’t be a problem.”

He forced a smile. “Of course, Countess, I will have these back to you in no time.”

“Good.” She said simply. “Do not disappoint me.”

While Dash had done data entry for Countess Cleo before, it was never this much, and he always had far more time to do it in. Even if he worked right up until midnight, not taking a single break, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to finish everything. Dash knew how the Countess could be when she was angry, however, so he had no choice but to finish as many as possible and hope it would be enough.

He’d only gotten an hour of work done when his laptop died. Thankfully, he had remembered to save, and lost very little of his progress. He couldn’t charge it in his room, as the only outlet had stopped working a few days earlier and still needed to be fixed, so he’d have to find somewhere else to work. He chose the cafeteria, as he knew it would be almost empty until lunch time.

Dash never really got along with the operatives. He was an outsider to them; having been hired not as a fellow operative, but as an assistant to Countess Cleo. He lacked the training they had, unskilled at fighting and stealing.

It wasn’t like he tried to integrate with the operatives, either, as they honestly terrified him. He had to deal with older operatives-some that had been with VILE for most of their lives-but they weren’t the problem. The older operatives had mellowed with age, taking up less active positions within the organization, or-in the case of the more successful ones-retiring to live a life of luxury while still maintaining their VILE connections. With a few notable exceptions, all of the older VILE operatives he’d met had been pleasant company.

It was the younger VILE operatives that were the problem. Most of them were reckless and aggressive, always chomping at the bit in anticipation for their next assignment. He’d seen violent fights break out between operatives before, and each time they were treated as a regular occurrence. Usually, a crowd would even gather to watch. While none of the operatives had physically harmed Dash before-at least not on purpose-he wasn’t about to take any chances by getting involved with them.

Before getting back to work, he stopped at the only bit of good the island had; the coffee maker. At this point, caffeine was the only thing keeping Dash awake. Of course, the coffee on the island was terrible, but it was coffee, and that’s all that mattered right now.

The cafeteria was almost empty, safe for a few operatives here and there. One operative in particular he noticed was a mime he’d heard others refer to as Mime Bomb. They’d never actually met before, but according to what the Countess had told him, the operative had never spoken so much as a word to anyone, even before taking on the persona of a mime.

Unlike the other operatives currently occupying the cafeteria, Mime Bomb was alone. Towards the back of the room, a group of operatives chatted loudly about their most recent assignments, but the mime didn’t seem to be involved with them. Nor did he seem affiliated with the group of operatives playing some sort of ball game on top of a few tables. Even the few operatives silently reading in the corner didn’t seem to acknowledge him.

Mime Bomb silently approached the table Dash was seated at and mimed out sitting down.

“You can sit here if you want, I honestly don’t care.” Dash told him, not looking up from his work. “Just be quiet.”

The mime mimicked zipping his mouth shut and sat down. He mimed holding a book, flipping an imaginary page every few minutes.

Dash didn’t mind Mime Bomb’s presence; the operative seemed a bit weird, but not nearly as violent or as loud as the other operatives he’s met before. In fact, it was almost if the mime wasn’t there at all.

Dash worked in silence, entering the mission reports as fast as he could. The biggest problem, however, was how many of the reports were filled out incorrectly, barely legible, or simply incomplete. He had to read over some of the mission reports multiple times in order to find information that was written in the wrong place. In a few cases, when information was illegible or missing, he had to make up information on the spot, just to have something to fill in. His work was getting more and more sloppy, but that wasn’t important. A few small errors here and there would go unnoticed, but Countess Cleo would know if he didn’t have everything done by midnight.

Out of nowhere, a rubber ball came flying toward the table. Dash was quick enough to get himself out of the way, but not fast enough to protect his laptop, which was hit by the projectile. As the ball made contact with the device, the screen went black.

For a few moments everything was silent. The group originally playing with the ball paused, the operatives who had been talking suddenly grew quiet, even the group that had been reading was now looking up. Dash simply stared in shock.

After the situation had set in, the operatives who had been playing with the ball made a hasty retreat out of the cafeteria, and the two other groups resumed their activities. Fortunately, Dash’s laptop turned right back on, as the ball had only managed to hit the power button. Unfortunately, Dash hadn’t saved in over an hour.

Dash wanted to cry, he wanted to scream at the operatives for their carelessness, but instead he just stood up, got another cup of coffee, and went back to work.

Mime Bomb gave him a look of concern.

“I’m fine.” He said, forcing a smile. “Never better.”

Dash could tell the mime knew he was lying, but he didn’t care.

Dash wasn’t proud of his work-it was sloppy and filled with errors-but it was done. Countess Cleo didn’t even bother to thank him.

“I’ll have more work for you tomorrow.” She told him. “Be back here at seven in the morning.”

Dash really didn’t get paid enough for this.


End file.
